Redundant
by Romyjaden
Summary: With the help of a murderous heiress, the Xiaolin Dragons must once again stop evil from inheriting the earth, but Raimundo has personal problems that may be even more catastrophic. [SLASH][Eventually JackxRaimundo]
1. Prologue: Into Oblivion

_A/N: Howdy! So… how is everyone?_

_Yes, I know, I've been gone for a very long time… again. I've changed fandoms… again. And, again, I can't guarantee that this story will ever get finished. I plan to have a fairly complicated and multi-branched plot with several different plot lines. No, my original character has absolutely no romantic affiliations with anyone, so no worries and no flames. She is also not the main character. I think that will be Raimundo. Yes, I can guarantee some Jack/Rai slash later, although if you're expecting sex, you'll probably be disappointed because I'm really not planning on it. Please don't bug me about characterization; I know these characters in the limited sense that I started watching the show a month ago._

_Because it was Flower's stories and influence that got me onto the whole Jack/Rai thing, I shall dedicate this to her, because I now think Jack/Rai is the most fabulous thing ever. If you don't like the pairing, I don't care, so don't tell me so. You won't get a response and you will most likely just make me laugh. You shouldn't be reading this if you don't like the pairing._

_Anyway, those who do like the pairing and wish to may review. This is only the prologue and it's not-so-wonderful; not even 1000 words. But it's just a prologue, so I guess it's not supposed to be particularly lengthy. I hope I finish this story; I have high expectations for it._

_As for the disclaimer, no, I do not own Xiaolin Showdown or any of the characters. I do, however, possess the rights to Raimundo's accent. Or I at least wish I did._

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**PROLOGUE: Into Oblivion**

There was no choice but to work beside the darkness, to make it an ally of sorts. Night fell and there was nothing left to do but watch and wait. Nothing had gone according to plan and the entire operation had blown to hell. A figure moved in the darkness, but only for a moment, skirting the building and crouching beside an outcropping jutting out from the corner of the wall. There, it waited, keen eyes peeking around to scout the opposite wall. Nothing; everything was quiet, exactly as she had been told. The amount of money she had paid for the information that had led her to this spot should certainly have merited it valid. If this would get her out of the spot she was in, it would be worth every penny.

She'd been running for ten hours already, over a continent and more than seven countries (with the help of a plane, of course), but she couldn't fool them for long. If she couldn't get to Portugal, she was toast. The airports there were being patrolled, as they had been proclaimed international ground, and every entrance over the border was being watched as well, every guard given instructions to arrest her if she tried to cross over. Again, well-paid customers often gave quite detailed information.

Apparently if an heiress committed a murder, it was a big deal.

The truth was, she _had_ killed a man, in cold blood at that. She hadn't been falsely accused, she hadn't been set up, and she hadn't been possessed. She had killed him and remembered every victorious moment of it. However, the punishment seemed almost unfair. Jason Parsons had deserved to die, after what he'd done. Americans thought they could get away with anything, but that's not how they played it where she came from and he had learned his lesson well.

She wasn't sorry, either. If she was ever caught, she'd be damned if she lied about being sorry. However, she wouldn't be caught if she could help it. Her salvation floated just beyond her grasp in Portugal, but there was no way in. If only her family hadn't been staying at the manor in Marseilles for the summer, none of this would have happened in the first place.

All she could think was, stupid Americans.

Stupid Americans with their stupid egos and their stupid movie stars with their stupid slander.

She frowned in the darkness, crouching now as she watched the temple door intently. There were sounds; she knew someone was in there. Voices drifted from inside in the silent night and she froze, sinking even further into her protective cape of obscurity. She looked down at her hands resting on her knees, turning them over to gaze at her palms, illuminated only slightly by the glow of the full moon. Even in the dim she could see the traces of blood still upon them. The memory was so fresh she nearly shuddered, but regret refused to take her. Gaze averting, she continued her night watch, eyes narrowing slowly. If it took all night, she would wait.

The voices grew louder as a pair of figures appeared from beyond the door, the light from the building revealing their faces; a man and a woman, or a boy and a girl if you wished to be entirely exact. The male was shorter than the female, the murderer noted, and his head was entirely shaved, which made it appear much larger and rounder than the normal person. The girl, on the other hand, sported a lovely pair of black pigtails and looked to be of Japanese heritage.

It didn't matter who they were, she decided. The only thing that mattered was that they left. She soon got her wish as they strolled away to the adjoining buildings of the temple. After a few silent minutes of watching and listening, the criminal decided the coast was clear and made her move.

It was exactly how her source had described it. She had to admit, she was quite pleased. Perhaps she would tip him, if she wanted to take the pain to go see him again, which wasn't incredibly likely. But then again, once she had gotten herself into Portugal, she would have to hold up her end of the bargain.

The ends of her mouth curled slightly in pleasure. Yes, the vault was certainly here.

Crossing to the center of the room, her eyes darted around the premise. Everything was exactly right. Perhaps she had mistrusted him too much, but she had already decided she wouldn't apologize.

"Perfect," she murmured, touching what appeared to be a stone platform in the middle of the room. She knew better.

But she heard the footsteps too late. "Who's there?" said a distorted voice from the door. In her panic, the killer couldn't place the accent and for some reason, it annoyed her. She turned around, her hand moving as quickly as it could to her gun holster.

She was too late.

"TYPHOON BOOM!"

She felt herself fly through the air, terror and failure coursing through her for the moments before she smashed painfully into the opposite wall. For a fleeting second, the world was fuzzy and pale before everything before her faded into oblivion.


	2. Chapter One: Rolling Along

_A/N: Hey, R.Jade here. I hope you guys enjoyed the last part of this story, though I have my doubts that you'll enjoy this first chapter installment._

_I honestly can't believe I wrote anything this shitty. I'm truthfully embarressed. The first two pages (in other words, the part before anything actually happens) are alright, I guess, but I've always been better at writing thoughts and musings and drabbles than I have been at actual plots. That's not necessarily a good thing. I've slaughtered the characters, too, Raimundo in particular. Either way, I dearly hope that you enjoy it, even if it does suck a great deal._

_Again, I don't own XS or anything affiliated with it, blah blah blah. But Raimundo's accent is love._

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**CHAPTER ONE: Rolling Along**

It didn't take a genius to know that Raimundo was troubled.

A month had passed and still nobody could pinpoint exactly when he had become so distant. This did not except him. He was frustrated to no end, racking his brain for some explanation as to why his mind had been elsewhere. He often found himself, with no plausible explanation, by himself, sitting and thinking in a depressing state of meditation that was hardly kosher in his comrades' opinions. He could only wish he wasn't this way, but wishing doesn't get anyone very far and it certainly wasn't helping the situation.

Neither was that wailing banshee.

With the recent addition of the none-too-cooperative fugitive to the residence of the temple, things had gotten a bit out of hand. She'd been placed in one of the only empty rooms on the premise and, once she'd woken up, she'd taken to screaming and cursing in Portuguese, night and day. Hardly anything had gotten done. Training had come to a screeching halt and chores had been carried out rather sluggishly all day. Every last one of their concentrations had been shattered and they had resorted to sitting around as far away from the commotion as possible, holding their ears. Or, in Raimundo's case, headphones on their highest setting for the past 24 hours. Raimundo certainly didn't take it as a blessing that he was the only one who could understand what she was saying. As a matter of fact, he dearly wished he couldn't, but seeing as Portuguese was his native language, he didn't have much of a choice.

Now he sat, cross-legged and alone, beside the pond in the garden, his music accompanying him as he absently used his element to disturb the water below him. Tiny waves crashed silently against the bank and Rai watched them, his eyes glazed over in his weary state. He hadn't gotten much sleep lately, even before the howling girl had joined them.

Raimundo Pedrosa was quite troubled.

The drone of the screams in the background was vague through the beat of his music. The Argentinean rhythms had commandeered his focus either way, so he didn't pay it any mind. His jumbled thoughts still didn't make any sense, but they were beginning to fall into place, an unknown force in his mind pushing them to lay to rest in the back of his head. It was a welcome change from the recent pattern of his feelings.

Still he couldn't for the life of him identify what the hell was wrong with him and it was beginning to scare him a little. Lying back, he felt the soft impact as his upper body collided with the grass below. He didn't bother uncrossing his legs, staring up at the clear skies, his expression disturbed instead of content, as it normally would have in such a situation.

The trick was identifying exactly what had started it. If he had known, it would have saved him a whole lot of trouble. Unfortunately he had no idea. Everything had been as normal. Admittedly there had been one rather odd showdown that may have had something to do with it, but Raimundo was having trouble understanding why. So he had lost when he should have won. Sure he may have been upset about it for awhile, but there was no reason it would still be affecting him, and it was an improbable and unsatisfying solution anyway. Perhaps it was simply because he had no idea _why_ he had lost. There was no rational reason. It had been Raimundo and Jack Spicer working their way up a hazardous mountain to reach the Shen Gong Wu at the top.

The fact that Rai didn't even remember what Shen Gong Wu it had been was distressing enough. But the reason he had fallen was even more so. They were nearing the top and the Dragon of the Wind had been wearing his element down ridiculously, trying to shoo the opposing wind and cold from his frigid body; growing up in Brazil had never benefited him in these circumstances. His fingers frozen and his boots beginning to slip on the icy rocks below, he was beginning to become desperate, scrambling up as fast as he could, occasionally looking toward his comrades on their pedestal in the distance for support.

He gritted his teeth against the wind and the snow, expelling it from his face by means of his own gusts. The Mantis Flip Coin wasn't helping much, either, but perhaps that was partially his own fault. There weren't many opportunities, seeing as the entire climb was pretty much vertical. Every once in a while, he had been able to jump up a short distance to a distinct overhang and grab hold of it to make his climb that much easier. Needless to say, it wasn't doing much for him.

He remembered thinking that the Golden Tiger Claws would have been a much better bet.

The competition had been neck-to-neck and fierce as they reached the top of the mountain. Side-by-side, refusing to look at one another, Jack and Raimundo had climbed relentlessly, struggling against the harsh elements with determination. The fateful moment had come when a sheet of snow had given way and fallen around them. The pair had pinned themselves up against the mountain, gripping the rocks around them for dear life as their shoulders struggled to keep them solid against the small avalanche.

For a moment they had opened their eyes and, for an even longer moment, they had stared at one another. Raimundo couldn't identify the look on Jack's face; somewhere between victory and defeat, almost as if the both of them were hanging in limbo. It was an expression that, in itself, uttered a wish to start again, a wish not to be here. Raimundo suddenly found himself feeling the same way, yearning for a different place and different time.

It wasn't so strange. For some reason, it wasn't the first time he had felt like that.

It only took a second and, suddenly, Raimundo was falling through the air. All at once, he knew that he had lost. Ever since, the outlook had stuck; he always felt as if he wanted to be somewhere else. It seemed that every time he began something new, eventually it would begin to seem like this. Living and training at the temple was becoming less and less fulfilling as the days passed and Raimundo had no idea why. This was what he'd wanted to do, right? He wasn't so sure anymore. Then again, he'd never been sure of anything.

Chaos was becoming a little too much for him, he decided. That, and the world had thought it a perfectly wonderful idea to punish him for absolutely no reason at all. It was hardly fair, but as he'd always been told, life wasn't fair, was it? But then, why couldn't he handle a little fallout like this? He was only arguing with himself and it was going to get him nowhere; he already knew that.

Finally, Raimundo stood up, running a hand through his dark hair in the process. Removing his headphones, he was struck full force with the ridiculous volume of the captive's screams. This was getting downright stupid; something had to be done before they all went insane. The first step, however, was to find the rest of the Xiaolin dragons and regroup the non-strategy of ignoring the girl that seemed to be proving quite ineffective. They weren't going to get anywhere if they didn't cooperate.

He found them inside the temple outside the girl's room, speaking anxiously in hushed tones to one another. They turned at the heavy sound of his footsteps as he carelessly approached them, hands shoved in his pockets as his eyes traveled their uneasy faces. All three of their expressions changed to ones of forced greeting, their smiles somewhat distorted as the girl in the room continued to shriek incessantly.

"If we don't shut her up soon, _I'm_ going to start screaming." Kimiko Tohomiko whined, clasping her hands over her ears in exasperation. "I can't understand a word she's saying!"

"It sounds like a coyote stuck in a bear trap in December." Clay Bailey added with a frown, glancing toward the door.

"I cannot take it any longer!" Omi finished, his hands over his ears as well.

Raimundo sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he found himself becoming briefly overwhelmed. It took only an instant for him to recover and he reopened them again, looking at Kimiko, to Clay, to Omi, then back to Kimiko. "It's Portuguese." he muttered, looking suddenly to his right, studying the wall with newfound interest.

"What?" Kimiko shouted, eyes squinted in confusion.

"She's speaking Portuguese!" Raimundo repeated, this time louder so he could be heard over the screaming.

"You mean you understand the little lady?" Clay asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I understand her. Portuguese is Brazil's national language. I grew up speaking it." Raimundo replied with a shrug.

"Do you think you can shut her up?" Kimiko shot, glaring at Raimundo as if he should have come up with the plan in the first place. He would have reacted more fiercely if he hadn't reminded himself that she knew nothing of the muddle of thoughts he so recently had going through his head. He found he didn't want her to know. He didn't want any of them to know, for reasons he could not understand.

Raimundo shrugged again, hands still hanging limply in his pockets. "Whatever." he said as he made his way to the door and slipped inside the room. His greeting was exactly as could have been expected; the girl paused for only a moment before resuming the screaming of obscenities, rushing toward him, looking as if she wanted to tear his head off. Raimundo reacted casually, lifting his hand. A strong yet half-hearted gust of wind blew her backwards and she landed with a grunt on the cot behind her. At least she was smart enough not to try it again, he thought, locking eyes with her for a moment and raising an eyebrow as if to dare her to.

The renegade crossed her arms defiantly, glaring at him with dark Spanish eyes. As Raimundo began to speak in Portuguese, she stopped him, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't be stupid. I speak English." she snapped, shaking her head at him as if he were the most dim-witted person she'd ever laid eyes on.

"Fine then." he replied, his tone equally as rude. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Tell me yours, first."

He didn't know if it was particularly smart not to argue, but either way, he decided against it. "Raimundo, or Rai, I guess."

For a moment, she stared at him suspiciously. Eventually, however, she answered, however shortly. "I'm Morela." Promptly, she turned from him as if the conversation is over, propping her shoulders on the wall behind her, bending her knees, and placing her feet on the cot. He allowed her to stare at the wall for a few moments, simply watching her. Well, at least she had stopped screaming. Somehow, however, she wasn't getting any less annoying.

Finally, Morela sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "Listen, we both know I was after your Shen Gong Wu, or whatever the hell it is, so I'm not going to deny anything. I just need to get to Portugal, that's all. I'll leave you alone if it's that important—"

"How did you know about Wu?" Raimundo interrupted finally. She didn't exactly seem like the type that would be trying to steal it. He wasn't sure what a Shen Gong Wu thief looked like exactly, except for maybe Jack Spicer, but she just didn't seem like one. Something told him she wasn't exactly sure what she was doing.

"I have my sources, that's how." she snapped back defensively, casting a glare at him. At this point, Raimundo had to admit he was intrigued. Whoever it was, he didn't doubt for a moment that he knew them.

"Like who?"

Morela flinched slightly, looking quite annoyed at his curiosity. "Like it's none of your business. Listen, are you going to let me go or not?"

Raimundo shook his head and leaned against the wall to his right. "Are you kidding me? Why do you have to get to Portugal anyway?"

"Good Lord!" the girl shouted in exasperation, throwing her arms in the air. "I'm in trouble, okay? That's all. As I said, _none of your business_!" She crossed her arms and looked away from her, again obviously wanted to be done with the conversation. Raimundo, however, was far from it.

"You know, it kinda helps to know what you're up to. I wanna know if you're gonna kill me in my sleep or something." he replied matter-of-factly, smirking.

"Not you… Jason Parsons." she muttered, her face suddenly encased in the shadows of the reawakened emotions. Raimundo took a step back; she looked positively furious, nearly murderous.

"Huh?" The reply was rather unintelligent, Raimundo would note later, but it was really the only reaction he could have come up with on such short notice. Was she in fact admitting that she'd committed a murder or was he just deaf?

"Nothing. What do you need from me? Money? Huh? Just tell me what the hell you need and let me go. I can't stay here forever." she snarled. Raimundo could tell she was reaching the end of her rope; he wasn't sure whether it amused or scared him. It was by relieving coincidence that an idea found its way to his head at that moment.

"No, we don't want your money." he said coolly, a grin curling his lips. "But you may be able to help us out with something else."


	3. Chapter Two: One Little Detail

_A/N: Hey, R.Jade again. Seriously, I swear my ideas are alright in my head. beats head against desk Seriously, this thing came out of nowhere. I don't even know what it is. The ties aren't quite as enchanting as I previously imagined. It might get interesting. I couldn't say. Next chapter should be good, I think. But if it comes out like this, don't get your hopes up. Hope you all enjoy it anyway. _

_It may take me awhile to get chapters up from here on out because I've just started school and a musical, so it's a little hectic, but I'll do my best. I'm working on some drabbles and one-shots, too, just to please you all, if it will please you at all. I should have the first parts of my 100 drabbles story thing up soon. Please review this, though!_

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**CHAPTER TWO: One Little Detail**

It had been a matter of months since Jack Spicer had succeeded in stealing the Golden Tiger Claws. Ever since, Raimundo had been determined to get them back. They were one of his very favorite Shen Gong Wu, after all… or at least, one way or another and whether he liked it or not, it was the only way he could think of to get this nuisance out of their lives for good.

The entire journey had been made on the Crouching Cougar, with the reluctant hostage grumbling and scowling the entire way. It wasn't as though he could have expected anything else, so he left it at that, remaining virtually silent, which required a considerable amount of self-control to say the least. His expression had remained somber and his tongue tied almost the whole trip, but as they approached Jack Spicer's mansion, he felt ready to burst.

He'd left the rest of the Xiaolin Dragons with word of his whereabouts; they only seemed relieved that Morela was out of their hair. Who wouldn't be, Raimundo thought bitterly. Unfortunately, he couldn't make such a claim. The sooner they got this over with, however, the sooner he could rid himself of this baggage. Besides, he wanted that Shen Gong Wu; they all did.

They stopped somewhere just beyond the front garden of the manor and, by instinct, Raimundo crouched, perched on his toes in a nimble fashion. He narrowed his eyes, evaluating their task. Morela, on the other hand, stood behind him, arms folded across her stomach, far from alert and aware. It was exasperating, no doubt, but at least he had someone to do the dirtiest work. If someone was going to get caught, it wasn't going to be him. Since that showdown, Raimundo had wanted nothing to do with Jack Spicer and he planned on retaining that particular ideal.

"I can't believe it."

Raimundo started and turned at the sound of the girl's voice behind him. She was glaring reproachfully at the Spicer mansion, shaking her head. Brushing her dark hair from her face, she plunked down beside him, sitting cross-legged on the grass, thin lips pursed witheringly. Her murky eyes flickered with a sinister hate; against her pale skin, it seemed even more intimidating. Raimundo raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"The jerk set me up, didn't he?" She turned her eyes suddenly toward Raimundo, taking a deep breath and speaking again quite forcefully. "Why are we here? You never explained yourself, you know. I'm assuming there's a reason we're staked out."

"Duh." Raimundo replied with a roll of his eyes. "We're stealing some Shen Gong Wu. I told you _that. _Get with the program." Finally, he allowed himself to relax, his heels touching the grass, followed closely by his rear. "Why are _you_ acting so weird?"

"What exactly are we stealing?" she asked quietly, obviously deep in thought.

For a moment, Raimundo considered silence as an option. Quickly, however, by the shadowed look upon her face, he reassessed the situation; he didn't trust this girl as far as he could throw her, but it was all on neutral ground now. "They're called the Golden Tiger Claws. It's the only way to get you to Portugal without being seen."

Morela didn't reply. Instead, she stood up, peeking around the foliage around them into the garden beyond. "Come on, follow me."

"Hey, isn't it me who's supposed to be giving orders?" complained Raimundo as he submitted almost instantly, trotting behind her and scowling. One way or another, he had to admit he was rather intrigued by her obvious recognition. Something had clicked in her head and he was desperate to know what it was. It was the curse of a curious mind… if that's what you wanted to call it, of course. His comrades simply called it annoying. He had to admit he was shocked when he found himself following her to the door of a wine cellar. He was even more shocked when she removed a key from her back pocket, inserted it into the lock, and slipped inside. Once again, he followed, overcome by his nosiness, although the Shroud of Shadows was burning a hole in his pocket as they spoke. He didn't want to be seen. He _really_ didn't want to be seen.

"I'm going to kill him, I'm just going to _kill_ him." she murmured bitterly. The statement was followed by some excessively profane cursing in Portuguese that made Raimundo smirk and nod. The string of profanity reminded him vaguely of life in the Brazilian circus when he thought about it. They descended a flight of stairs before they came to another door, this one secured much more effectively.

Morela flew through the identification tests as if it were nothing, lending her handprint, a retina scan, her voice for recognition, and a specialized access code. After a hiss of compressed air, they stepped through the stainless steel sliding doors and into what appeared to be the bedroom of Jack Spicer. "Hide. Now." Morela hissed through gritted teeth and Raimundo promptly obeyed, pulling the Shroud of Shadows over himself, although he had to wonder when it had been she who took over this operation.

Mostly likely when she gained recognized access to the Spicer manor, he thought. This ought to be interesting.

"Who's there?" a voice from somewhere in the next room called. Raimundo immediately recognized it and pulled the shroud tighter and concealing himself behind Morela, though he knew he was invisible.

"It's Morela Oliveira, Spicer. I have a bone to pick with you." she snapped impatiently. There was a brief sound of scrambling before a figure appeared on the other side of a door to their left, wiping his pale, oil-stained hands on an old rag.

Raimundo was sure it was the first time he had ever seen Jack Spicer without his trademark eyeliner… or his usual ensemble, for that matter. He was simply dressed in a ratty and grease-stained red shirt and a pair of faded black jeans. For more than a few moments, he was rendered entirely stunned, tilting his head one way then the other, simply for a better look, as he was sure this was going to be the only time he'd _ever_ see Jack like this. He hardly looked like Jack, to tell the truth. It was strange how one little detail could make all the difference in the world.

"I told you what you wanted to know. What do you want from me _now_?" Jack groaned, tossing the rag aside. His room was rather disorganized, Raimundo noted. It wasn't entirely surprising to him, however.

"You failed to mention that you happen to have some of the same artifacts right here in this very house. I don't pay thousands for a set-up, Spicer. I expect full use of these Golden Tiger Claws I've caught wind of." Morela paused, drumming her fingers on her arm and raising her eyebrows. "Rumor says you have them."

For a moment, there was a confused silence, but Jack then furrowed his brow, crossing his own arms in indignation. "Alright, where are you hiding them?" he snarled, looking her up and down, the same hatred reflecting in his eyes that had been present in hers. It could only be assumed he meant the Xiaolin Monks, especially by his wild expression. Ah, thought Raimundo. So this was her source. Somehow he was sure he should have known.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about. I spoke to someone very reliable, actually… Tubbimura, I believe was his name. He informed me quite clearly that it was _you_ that possessed these Tiger Claws and _not_ the monks you spoke of." she shot back toxically. Raimundo was careful to dodge her arms as she made an exaggerated hand gesture to illustrate her frustration. His eyes flitted around the room for a moment, determined to make himself useful. Frowning, he backed toward the wall, away from Morela as the pair continued their argument.

"Like I'm supposed to believe _that_!" Jack scoffed, shaking his head. "What else are you prepared to hand over if I let you use the Golden Tiger Claws, huh?"

"Absolutely nothing, Spicer! I already…"

At this point, Raimundo's attention had shifted. The Golden Tiger Claws had to be around here somewhere and, with Jack distracted, he was free to search for them as he pleased. Being invisible only helped matters. Creeping around the bickering pair, he investigated the room, keen gaze finding every nook and cranny, and still nothing. "Damn…" he murmured under his breath, shaking his head and furrowing his brow.

Luckily his eyes shifted upward at that moment. There, perched precariously on a shelf, sat the Golden Tiger Claws. After one final glance toward Jack and Morela, Raimundo elevated himself on tip-toe and, making sure to keep himself covered with the Shroud, reached for the Shen Gong Wu. _Just a little further… just a little… oh, damn._

He watched as the Shroud of Shadows slipped, exposing the bronzed skin of his forearm to the world. He bit his lip, glancing back at the others and releasing a breath of relief to see that Jack's back was to him. Morela's eyes had flickered to him for a moment, full of warning and panic. _Just one more inch… keep him distracted… shit!_

The Shen Gong Wu slipped further, now exposing half his body and his head. He felt it slip completely off and caught it with his opposite hand, still perched on tip-toe and reaching for the Tiger Claws. _Keep talking…_

Finally, the tips of his fingers touched the Shen Gong Wu. "Yes…" he mumbled inaudibly, pulling them weakly toward him and away from the wall.

It was appropriate that the entire operation would go to hell in that moment. It took less than a second for him to loose his already feeble grip on the Tiger Claws and he could do nothing but watch in horror as they tumbled to the floor. The clatter that ensued as they hit the ground was too much for anyone to shrug off. The conversation stopped abruptly and Jack turned around furiously.

"You little _liar_!" he spat, eyes flickering toward Morela accusingly. The girl simply shrugged, then looked back at Raimundo, obviously a bit more than dismayed. "Jackbots, attack!"

"Come on!" Raimundo yelled as Morela rushed forward. "Golden Tiger Claws!" Grabbing her hand, the Dragon of the Wind slashed at the air and pulled her through the hole in the time-space continuum that had resulted.

"Take me to Portugal." she snarled, holding onto him as they flew, suspended awkwardly in space.

Raimundo didn't really want to argue.

They ended up coming out in an alleyway in Lisbon, in the dead of night. Morela broke away from him disgustedly the moment they'd leaped from the tear in time, scowling at him. "I had it under control, you know."

Raimundo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You obviously don't know Jack Spicer too well. He never would have let you use these." He waved the Tiger Claws at her as he replaced the dangling Shroud of Shadows in his pocket. "You're in Portugal. Can I go?"

"Of course not. We're not finished." Morela smirked, turning toward him. "Have you ever been to an international ball?" She paused for a moment, looking him up and down critically. "I assume not."

Drawing himself to his full height, Raimundo glared at her, rather wounded. "How do _you_ know?"

"I've been a diplomat's daughter for 17 years, that's how." she replied simply. "That's where we're going. I suppose you _could _run off, but it's a good time… beautiful dancing… lovely women… absolutely wonderful food…"

However he wanted to protest, Raimundo had to admit it didn't sound all that terrible. Honestly, the food was what allured him the most. It wasn't all that puzzling once you thought about it, he supposed.

Really, it couldn't be _all_ bad, could it? He bit his lip, surveying Morela and her proposition for a few long moments. It might be nice. Slowly, he nodded and Morela looked smug, as if she had known it the entire time.


End file.
